


It's a New Life

by TastySins_tm



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcoholism, Blood and Gore, Death, F/M, Gen, Gerasimos is my oc, Suicide mention, Supernatural Creatures, Vampires, Werewolves, Witches, listened to feeling good by michael buble while writing, my take on how my version of vampires were created, the woman hes talking to in the end is my friend's oc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 04:51:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12381282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TastySins_tm/pseuds/TastySins_tm
Summary: For five hundred years, Gerasimos is forced to relive his turning every day in his mind. One day, his new little friend asks how he, a vampire as old as he is, was turned. He relives the moment once again, in graphic, vivid detail.





	It's a New Life

**Author's Note:**

> A small fic for an oc of mine! He's one of the first of the vampires, turned into what he is by a coven of witches and werewolves performing horrible experiments back in 1500 Greece. It's graphic, so be cautious as you read.

He remembers the room.

 

The room covered in blood and symbols and candles. The room full of witches and werewolves. The fucking room that turned him into the beast he is today.

 

Five hundred years of hell.

 

Gerasimos was a simple boy, barely old enough to grow a proper beard and no smarter than he needed to be a farmer. All he knew at the time was how to till soil, and that the girl that lived near him was pretty enough to be Aphrodite incarnate, in his young eyes.

 

Young people in his home village were being kidnapped- the eldest no older than 20- and he was stupid. He tried to sneak out to see the neighbor girl. He ended up getting both of them captured.

 

He remembers the ride in the carriage. Tied, blindfolded, and feeling her shake and sob next to him. He remembers being tossed into a dark room with other boys, hearing her scream for him- for help. For her mother and father. For anything. He wanted to do the same, but his words were long dead in his throat.

 

“Just do what they say,” an older boy said. “And you will be okay”. Gerasimos could tell he wasn’t telling the full truth. Do what they say and you won’t die immediately. His optimism got the better of him, though. Maybe if he was complacent- cooperative- he’d be freed.

 

He remembers the first one.

 

An ugly thing- big and hairy and brown as the dirt he hoed for the next harvest. Face of a wolf but the stance of a man. A monster. Yellowed fangs bared as Gerasimos was dragged out of the room. Him and another boy were taken to the room. The scent of blood, vomit, and urine was strong- the dead girl on the ground covered in all three.

 

He couldn’t help but vomit, himself, much to the anger of the beast holding him. He was lashed, then ordered to clean up the area and dispose of the body. The boy repeated to Gerasimos- listen to them, and you’ll be okay.

 

The beast watched as they cleaned, daring him to spill the bile rising in his throat. Instead, he simply cried. Silently hoping to be rescued from whatever torture these creatures had in mind.

 

More entered the room as he shook. Two more beasts, followed by three humans. They didn’t look to be captives, and even sneered at the boys on the ground. One woman scoffed.

 

“A shame- that one’s actually good looking,” she laughed, nodding to the unknown boy next to him. The boy didn’t look up- he simply kept working.

 

For days, it went like this. Gerasimos and some others dragged out, forced to work and cook and clean for these monsters and witches.

 

One day, he spotted her. His Aphrodite- strung up on a wall by chains. He only knew it was her by the color. Her hair a scorching red and eyes greener than any emerald. Turned into an abomination.

 

Patches of red fur sprouted from her skin. Arms and legs bent at odd angles, as if the bones themselves were changing. Her face, while not quite as long as the actual monsters’, was stretched and teeth too big for her mouth. She screamed at the beasts and witches near her, who were cackling in merriment. Whatever they were doing to her was what they wanted- or was close to what they wanted.

 

Deformed hands twitched, trying to reach out to the only familiar face she knew. A garbled plea escaping her mouth. She wanted out. She wanted peace. She wanted death.

 

A knife was shoved into his trembling hands, the wicked creature grinning down at him.

 

“Go ahead, son,” the monster spat. “Give her what she wants”.

 

He was shoved towards her, close enough to smell the blood seeping from her mouth and hear her rasping breath.

 

“You aren’t leaving here until she’s dead. Whether it’s by your hands, or by time,” a seemingly human man said.

 

Even now, five hundred and forty three years later, he can still feel the knife sinking into her chest. He can feel the blood gushing onto him. He can see her eyes going wide as she, instinctively, struggles to stay alive. It takes her too long to die.

 

Too long of sitting there, listening to her wheeze while he’s frozen in place. While the monsters cackle behind him. When she’s finally dead, he screams, trying to turn the knife on one of the werewolves.

 

He’s beat down quickly, a broken mess of limbs and dragged back to the boys’ room.

 

He loses track of how long he’s there, but he finally gets a chance to get back at them. He, and the other boys, conspired against their captors.

 

They waited until one of the lazier monsters were on watch. They knew he’d fall asleep, as he always does.

 

When he’s unconscious, their plan took place.

 

They found the witches’ potions and spellbooks. Only one of them could read, but even he could barely make out the words on the page. Transformation and Lycanthropy were a couple he finally sounded out. Whatever magic was at work here, it was evil.

 

The boys ruined all their progress. Mixing potions into ugly and horribly-smelling concoctions, tearing apart parchments and books. Overturning their altars. The noise alerted guards, but the boys kept going.

 

If they were going to die, they didn’t want others to be subjected to this hell. At least, not for a long time.

 

Witches and wizards screamed in anger, wolves roared and snarled. Gerasimos had stared at a giant bottle in his hand. The color of blood and the smell of a charred corpse. He was sure he’d die from drinking it.

 

“Don’t give them the satisfaction of killing us,” he finally said, the words barely coming out of his fear-closed throat. The boys, and the monsters, watched in horror as he chugged some of the unknown liquid. The witches shouted as the other boys did the same, telling them to stop or else who knows what would happen.

 

Gods… Gerasimos wishes he’d let them kill him instead.

 

Whatever it was, it acted fast. The boys felt their bones shift, their skin split and turn into fur. Some grew wings out of their backs, others along their sides and arms. Gerasimos was no wolf. He looked around, seeing the others turn. They all looked different, but one thing was common among them. Bats. Large, mangled bats that stood like men.

 

Gerasimos remembers watching the claws sprout from his aching fingers. Feeling his teeth grow and sharpen to points.

 

He remembers the pure  _ hunger _ . The human in him was gone in an instant.

 

Food hungry hurting aching dying blood  _ blood  _ **_blood_ ** .

 

Wheezing breaths left him as his heart slowed to a near stop. His own blood running cold as he hissed. The monsters in front of him backed up, one lone wizard sticking just too far out of their group to be safe.

 

Hunger anger meat blood need it  **_now_ ** .

 

He pounced, biting into the man’s neck and draining him  _ dry _ . That prompted the other boys to attack, tearing open chests and bellies of witches and wizards and wolves. It wasn’t enough. They all needed more.

 

The girls left in the building weren’t safe from their onslaught. Neither were the rest of the beasts that tried to fight back.

 

When they finally came to their senses, they stood in the middle of the carnage. Gerasimos stared at his blood-soaked paws, watching as they slowly shifted back to human hands. His shaking, weak legs couldn’t keep him standing. He kneeled, dropping next to the corpse of the beast that had lashed him the first day he was here.

 

The group screamed, their collective cries rising into the night.

 

Gerasimos doesn’t remember what he did next- the few years after that were a blur of feeding, death, and sorrow. All he knows is that now? He wants to forget.

 

Five hundred and forty three years later, he still remembers every detail of his transformation vividly. The only time he forgets is when he’s staring at the bottom of a bottle. When he’s drunk, it hurts less. He’s happier- able to actually be happy when he actually feels somewhat warm.

 

Five hundred years of death. Of anger. Of sorrow. Of trying to leave this world, only to learn that there’s a real possibility he simply can’t fucking  _ die _ .

 

“You got to see history in the making,” his new… friend… had told him, young eyes shining with both excitement and slight regret at bringing up the subject. “That’s cool, right?”

 

He simply snorted, remembering being part of almost every major war that humans teach in their stupid little history classes.

 

“Yeah. Real cool,” he grumbled, staring at the whiskey in his hand. Without looking at her, he simply drank, and drank, and drank, until he wasn’t. He can tell she was a little more than worried about seeing this happen in front of her, but he didn’t care.

 

Right now, all he cared about was forgetting.

 

For once, he just wanted to feel good.

 

Maybe she can help him, a small voice tells him in the back of his mind. He stares at her, seeing her trying to come up with something to fill the uncomfortable silence. That primal urge he always felt returns.

 

Mine mine feed breed mine  _ mine  _ **_mine_ ** .

 

He couldn’t help the quiet growl in his chest, or the smirk on his face. She can help, alright.

 

His own little witch… his own Aphrodite incarnate.

 

He’ll sink his claws- his teeth- into her soon enough. For now, he’s fine indulging in her questions. It’s a nice distraction from the memories, anyway. Besides…

 

He has all the time in the world to take her for his own.


End file.
